


Pinstripes (Are All That They See)

by shakespeareandsunshine



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Background Nooreva - Freeform, Day 7, Grifter!Isak, Grifter!Magnus, Hacker!Sana, Heist AU, Hitter!Eva, M/M, Mastermind!Jonas, SKAM Fic Week, loosely based on Ocean's 11
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareandsunshine/pseuds/shakespeareandsunshine
Summary: “No. No no no no no. Nope. Nuh uh. Not happening.” This, surprisingly, from Magnus, finally fully awake and shaking his head vehemently. “We are not putting out a hit on the poster child for happiness.”Isak can’t help but agree.“Not theman,”Jonas says, exasperated. “Thedog.”And, well. That certainly changes things.(Otherwise known as that Heist AU you never knew you needed)





	Pinstripes (Are All That They See)

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to the most awesome GC to ever awesome, because without their cheerleading, I would have abandoned this fic AGES ago. Double thanks to Immy for Norway-picking and not laughing and my overt American-ness. 
> 
> Also, I have this whole fic outlined, so I know exactly what happens next and how it ends. I even part of the next bit written, so don't worry about me abandoning it. I put in FAR too much effort for that. 
> 
> HOWEVER, that being said, I have some real life things I need to focus on coming up, so although I'd LIKE to get the next chapter up within two weeks, unless I procrastinate actually dealing with my real life stuff (which would be really really bad) I don't want to guarantee that. But I promise that I'll be back at it after the 30th, come hell or high water (or more likely, exhaustion). 
> 
> So I hope y'all enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent thing :)
> 
> Oh and the title is from the song by the same name from Catch Me If You Can: The Musical, because I am subtle as fuck.

Looking down at the unconscious boy bound and gagged in the back of his car, Isak wonders, a little hysterically, when the fuck this had become his life. He’d like to blame Magnus, but if he were being truly honest with himself, Isak would have to admit that the situation he now finds himself in is equally his fault. 

To be fair, a large portion of the blame also belongs to Jonas, the one to start it all by waking Isak up at precisely 4:03AM on a rainy Wednesday morning about a month ago. 

Isak had only just fallen asleep too, so his voice when answering the phone was little groggy and a lot pissed. He didn’t even bother looking at the caller ID. There were only three people in the world who had this particular phone number and of those three, only Jonas would call at this ungodly hour. 

“This had better be important,” Isak snaps, words slightly muffled by his pillow. If he doesn’t change position or open his eyes, he might still be able to convince his sleep-deprived brain that it hadn’t actually woken up yet. 

Jonas, of course, destroys that desperate shred of hope with just two words:

“Target acquired.”

Then he hangs up, leaving Isak shell-shocked and very much awake. Dramatic fucker. For a stoner, Jonas could have remarkably zero chill. 

Isak sits up, scrambling for his laptop, and quickly logs on to the Kollektiv’s secured videochat. Jonas is already online, a makeshift water bottle bong clearly visible on the corner of his computer table. Isak grins despite himself. Jonas always does his best work while high. 

A soft ping alerts Isak to the presence of a newcomer to the chat. He looks up, expecting to see Sana, but is met with Eva’s cheerful smile instead. Huh. That's... unusual. As the founding members of the Kollektiv, Jonas, Sana, and Isak had always discussed the preliminary details together. And alone. Isak narrows his eyes suspiciously. Going off-script isn’t something they do. Something must be up. He sits back, waiting. 

Jonas is the first to break the silence. 

“Sana should be with us any minute,” he says. “She’s a bit busy at the moment though, so I---”

Whatever Jonas had planned to say next is interrupted by Sana herself, finally logging onto their chat. If she’s as surprised by Eva’s presence as Isak was, she doesn’t show it. 

“Let’s make this quick if we can, please,” she says, adjusting her massive headphones, the slightest trace of a French accent coloring her words. She doesn’t usually allow herself to slip like this, Isak notes. She must be distracted. “My flight’s in a few hours and I haven’t finished packing yet.”

“Where are you going?” asks Eva.

Isak rolls his eyes. He’d known Sana for years now, well enough to know that she didn’t like sharing too many details of her “real life” with the group. It never stopped Eva from asking though. 

“I’m going to Turkey,” Sana answers. Isak’s eyebrows shoot up, and he leans forward interestedly. Whatever Sana chose to share, he wanted to hear. But apparently, that was all Sana had to say, because she redirects the conversation back to Jonas with a pointed cough and meaningful glance down at her watch. 

“Right. Well, we don’t want you to miss your flight, Sana, so let’s just cut to the chase,” Jonas begins, his mellow facade completely at odds with his suddenly business-like tone. “Kollektivet has a new target, and I’d like it to be non-negotiable.”

Isak’s eyes widen in shock. He doesn’t even need to look at Sana to know that her expression must mirror his. Jonas may be their de facto leader, but Kollektivet targets are always open to the power of veto. Always. 

“I’ll let Eva give you the details,” Jonas continues. “Since she’s the one that brought the target to my attention in the first place.”

Well, that made sense at least. Not much sense, but enough to explain her presence at the meeting. Eva clears her throat, almost nervously, looking somewhere offscreen for reassurance. Isak loves her like the older sister he never had, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to throw her a lifeline just yet. Not until he hears what she has to say, anyway. 

Eva looks back at the screen, steeling herself, and Isak wonders what she could possibly have to say that would make her this nervous. Eva may not be a founding member of the Kollektiv, but she’s close to it. Isak had known her almost as long as he’d known Jonas and Sana, and he hadn’t seen her look this unsure of herself in years.

“So, you guys know Noora, right? My girlfriend?” 

And well, whatever Isak had expected Eva to say, it wasn’t this. 

“You’ve been dating her for almost two years now, Eva, and you haven’t stopped talking about her since the day you met,” Isak says, rolling his eyes. “I’m pretty sure the guy at the post office two towns over knows Noora at this point.”

Eva smiles, ridiculously fond, and Isak finds himself taken aback at how little that bothers him. He would’ve been jealous at that little bit of happiness once, would’ve given anything to feel something even resembling it himself, but now he just doesn’t have the energy to care. 

“Yeah, well. I never told you guys how we met,” Eva says. “And I think I really should.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you did, actually,” says Sana. Isak’s inclined to trust her. Sana’s rarely, if ever, wrong about anything. “You told us you met at a bar in New York, right after the Italian job. You were so jetlagged, you didn’t even realize she was flirting at first, remember?”

“Yeah, no. I lied,” Eva winces. “But only because Noora asked me to!” she hastens to add. “It was her story to tell, not mine, but I think it’s time you guys know.” 

Eva takes a deep breath, and looks off-screen one more time, as if for assurance. Isak wonders what could possibly hold her attention that way. Knowing those two, Noora was likely sitting just out of frame. Saps. “Really, we met in London. At a bus stop. In middle of the night. When I saw her sitting there, looking lost, I thought…. well, I suspected, anyway. But then when three different buses went by and she didn’t get on a single one, I knew.” 

“Knew what?” Sana’s voice is impossibly gentle. 

“She was running away.” Eva’s head snaps up, and it’s only then that Isak realizes he had answered out loud. Her gaze softens, matching Sana’s tone. Isak looks away.

“Yeah,” says Eva finally. “She was running away. I offered her a place to crash for the night. I didn’t think she’d take it, but she did. I guess she could see I was lonely too. You guys had all left by then, and I was flying back home to LA the next morning, back to my real life, where I had no friends and no family, and no one to share my adventures with. And I think, I think Noora could tell, somehow. So when I got on a flight the next day, she came along.”

“And then she never left?” Jonas asks. 

“And then she never left,” Eva echoes, smiling. 

Jonas smiles back. Even Sana looks a little softer around the edges. And it’s not like Isak isn’t happy with Eva’s happiness. Of course he is. He just isn’t the sentimental or romantic type. He hadn’t thought Sana was either, but people learn new things every day. The one thing Isak hadn’t learned yet, however, was why he had been woken up at ass o’clock in the morning. If it was solely to hear the origin story of Nooreva, as Magnus liked to call them, Isak was gonna cut a bitch, time zones be damned. 

“You two are disgustingly in love, we know,” Isak says, only half joking. “But what does this have to do with us?”

Eva’s gaze turns cold, her entire being hardening. Isak shivers at the sight. If this is the face her targets see before she takes them out, he never, ever wants to get on her bad side. 

“Noora finally told me who she was running from,” Eva says. The ice in her voice could freeze over hell. “I want to take him down.”

Isak looks at the others. Jonas’s expression is as impassive as ever, but Sana looks skeptical. Isak knows she wouldn’t let the Kollektiv act on emotion alone. She’d need more information first. Isak’s secretly glad - it means that he might not have to be the asshole to tell Eva that the Kollektiv is above petty payback pranks. 

“Do we have a name?” Sana asks. Her words are neutral, but Eva bristles at the challenge Isak knows them to be.

She levels Sana with a look that would make anyone else cower, before nodding. “It’s William Magnusson.”

At this, Isak feels his blood run cold, and wonders, briefly, clinically, if this is how people feel before they faint. Or are hit by a train. Logic tells him that there are hundreds of William Magnussons in the world. Thousands, probably. It was statistically unlikely that Eva was talking about the one William Magnusson that Isak knew. Probability’s a thing, right? 

“So?” Eva asks, back to sounding like her normal, cheerful self. “Are you guys in?”

“You know I am,” Jonas answers. “I’ll always have your back. And I’ll pull the supreme leader card if I have to.”

Isak huffs out a surprised laugh. The supreme leader card is an actual card that Magnus had made for Jonas for his last birthday. Jonas had been deeply offended, and went on a thirty minute rant about democracy. Mahdi had it framed. 

“The first few Google hits on this guy show me he’s a serious jerk, so I’m in too,” Sana says, surprising Isak yet again. “Or, I would be if I weren’t about to head off on my honeymoon.”

The discussion grinds to an absolute halt, everyone staring at Sana in shock. When she finally seems to register what she said, she blushes. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m sorry I said anything,” she mumbles. 

“Don’t be sorry!” Eva cries. “We’re happy for you, you loser!”

“Yeah, Sana, congratulations!” Isak exclaims, a little belatedly. Jonas is quick to follow suit. 

“Point is,” Sana says, speaking over their well-wishes, her clearly visible dimples undermining her exasperation. “While Yo--, I mean, my husband, accepts what I do for a living, he doesn’t necessarily agree with it. And I don’t want to stir up trouble three weeks into our marriage. So I’ll offer whatever remote support I can, but I’m not getting too involved.”

At that, all eyes turn to Isak. It seems the final vote is down to him. Great. 

Statistically speaking, it probably isn’t the same William, but if it is… if Isak agrees… If Isak agrees, it could mean revisiting the life he thought he’d left behind for good, the truths he’d tried so hard to ignore. And statistical significance had never been on his side. 

“I don’t know Noora,” Isak says slowly. “And to be honest, I don’t really give a shit about her, either.” Eva sucks in a sharp breath, clearly hurt, but Isak soldiers on. “But I know you, Eva. And I give a whole lot of shits about you. So if this is something you need me to do, I guess I’m in too.”

Eva looks suspiciously misty about the eyes, which Isak is supremely unequipped to deal with, so he's pathetically grateful when Sana cuts in. 

“How sweet,” she says drily. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll do some recon on William on the way to the airport. I’m sending it to Jonas, obviously, but I’ll send it to you too, Isak, since you’ll have to be our man on the ground for this one.”

And with that, she’s gone, her chat window going dark before disappearing completely. 

Shit. With Sana out of the picture, this really will all be on Isak. He hadn’t thought of that. 

Jonas looks at Isak, brows furrowed with worry. 

“Any last thoughts, bro, before I patch the others in?” he asks. 

“No,” Isak says. “At least, none yet.”

Jonas nods in understanding. They’ll definitely be having words later, though, after the group conference. 

Isak leans back in his chair, rolling out his neck before cracking his knuckles loudly. “Let’s do this.”

***

It takes almost forty minutes for Jonas to get everybody else online. Ten of those minutes Isak spends waiting for Sana to send him whatever information she can find about their target. The next fifteen are spent skimming the ridiculously large file she had sent over, and the rest of the time Isak takes to silently freak the fuck out. 

Fuck statistics.

He was going back to Oslo.

It would be fine. He could do this. He _would_ do this. He’d be in and out before anyone noticed he’d arrived. It’s not like people regularly paid attention to him there anyway. His father certainly hadn’t and---

No. That's a train of thought Isak isn’t willing to pursue at the moment. Not like he can, anyway, since it's Chris’s turn to call the meeting to order, and she was doing it with an honest-to-god neon pink and fluffy gavel. When it hit her bedazzled lap-desk it fucking _squeaked_. Isak seriously considers muting the volume for as long as it takes Chris to achieve some sort of order, but he restrains himself, barely. Just his luck, he’d miss Magnus instigating a shot-not, and end up volunteered to do something particularly unpleasant. Isak shudders. His favorite hoodie still smelled like Cairo’s sewers. 

Instead, Isak focuses on the split screen before him. Magnus, Mahdi, Chris, Vilde, Jonas, and Eva all share equal space on his slightly pixelated feed, despite the time differences between them. Magnus is still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and Vilde’s nursing an unreasonably large mug of what Isak hopes is tea but suspects is her own borderline illegal concoction. So Jonas had woken them up too. Isak feels a vicious twinge of satisfaction at that. 

“Esteemed members of the Collective,” begins Chris, once she finally has everyone’s attention. Isak stares. Wherever she is, her lights were now off, her cellphone’s flashlight tilted to illuminate her eyes and the tops of her cheekbones, leaving everything else in shadow. 

“I believe we’re called Kollektivet, actually,” Isak interrupts. So he’s being a shit, sue him. He's the one that named the group, and no one is gonna take that away from him. Not at five in the fucking morning. 

Chris flips him off. 

“Esteemed members of _Kollektivet_ ,” she tries again, her aura of Great Importance slightly dampened by the very pointed look she throws at her webcam. It was probably directed at Isak, but could just have easily been directed at Vilde, who was ignoring Chris in favor of dumping no fewer than eight sugar packets into her mug, so Isak elects to ignore her. 

“Many moons have passed since we’ve last plotted our ---”

“Wait, where’s Sana?” Vilde had finally finished doctoring whatever was in the mug, and was now looking at her the screen intently, ostensibly searching for Sana’s chat window. 

“She’s on vacation,” Jonas says. Everyone but Eva appeared shocked by the revelation, Isak is relieved to note. Chris even drops her flashlight, leaving her screen in total darkness. “You all know just as much as I do,” Jonas continues. “So can we please get back to business?”

After a few moments of muffled cursing, Chris reappears, flashlight back under her chin, looking only slightly worse for wear. 

“Although Sana is no longer counted amongst our number... y’know what, I was trying to be dramatic but it’s way too early for all that secret society crap,” she says, rapidly dropping her mysterious act, and flicking back on her lights. “Jonas has a new target, guys, so listen up, because if he has to repeat himself more than once, I’m out.”

Isak looks over at Jonas. His eyebrows are twitching slightly, looking just a gavel-squeak away from cracking up. 

“Thanks for that introduction, Chris,” says Jonas, collecting himself admirably. “So, I’ll start with the fun part. Gang, we’re going to Oslo!”

This announcement is met by cheers from Eva, Mahdi, and Chris. Vilde's smiling slightly, and Magnus still looked half asleep, so it seemed like Isak really is the only one less than thrilled with the location. Oh well. He’d just have to deal. 

“Wasn’t Norway just voted the happiest country in the world or something?” Mahdi asks.

“Bro, I’m pretty sure that was Denmark,” Magnus replies.

“No, that was us,” says Vilde. “Trust me. Have you ever even _met_ a Dane?”

Magnus opens his mouth to reply, but before he can formulate a response, he’s interrupted by the squeak of Chris’s gavel. 

“None of you will be happy if you don’t let Jonas talk,” she says. After a solid two seconds of silence, Jonas continues. 

“Now for the even funner part - our target.” And with that, everyone’s chat pings at once as Jonas sends over an encrypted image. 

Isak gives it a cursory glance, and freezes. The man in the picture was definitely _not_ William Magnusson. What he was, however, was gorgeous. Dressed in a bunad, (and oh it had been so long since Isak had seen one worn, he hadn’t expected the stab of homesickness the sight would bring) with an eye-crinkling smile aimed at something just past the camera, it was hard to believe the shot was a candid one, and not an elaborately staged photoshoot. Only the crosshairs superimposed over the image gave it away as the recon shot it was. Isak frowns. There was no way the photo was taken in the last half hour. Jonas must have been watching William for a while, without telling Isak. They were definitely going to be having words.

“No. No no no no no. Nope. Nuh uh. Not happening.” This, surprisingly, from Magnus, finally fully awake and shaking his head vehemently. “We are not putting out a hit on the poster child for happiness.”

Isak can’t help but agree. 

“Not the _man,”_ Jonas says, exasperated. “The _dog.”_

And, well. That certainly changes things.

Isak’s embarrassed to realize that he hadn’t even noticed the dog the man was walking in the photo, which is really fucking telling because the dog was massive. If a Great Dane and a tractor had babies, they would probably be smaller than the monster at the end of the leash. 

“First of all, that is not a dog, that’s a horse,” Magnus says, pointing at his screen for emphasis. 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s a puppy,” says Jonas mildly.

“We are not targeting a puppy!” Vilde shrieks, at a decibel previously unattainable to mankind. Isak rapidly lowers his volume, but not fast enough. He spares a moment to grieve his eardrums, dearly departed. They’d be missed. 

Jonas throws up his hands in surrender. “Okay! Okay. We are not targeting the puppy, exactly. It’s a little more complicated than that. The puppy in question belongs to one William Magnusson.”

“Asshole extraordinaire,” mutters Eva. 

“Asshole extraordinaire,” agrees Jonas. “And also our actual target. He’s the one we want to take down.”

“Do you mean ‘take down’ as in kill?” asks Mahdi. “Or ‘take down’ as in take everything he owns including his pride and excluding his giant fucking hellhound?”

“I’m down for either,” Eva says, a little too cheerfully for Isak’s comfort. William must have really done a number on Noora. Not surprising, from what he knew of the man.

“The second one,” says Jonas firmly. Eva nods, looking disappointed. Oddly, so does Vilde. 

“What a shame,” Chris says drily. 

Isak privately agrees. 

“Look,” Jonas says, sounding far too long-suffering for this early in the conference, “Magnusson’s a dick, but the Kollektiv hasn’t murdered anyone yet, and I’d like to keep our killing streak clean.”

He pauses, as if waiting for someone, probably Eva, to object, but when nobody does, he continues.

“Magnusson’s a social climber. His dad is some big hotshot in high society, and little Willhelm wants nothing more than to make pappa proud. Problem is, he’s about as cultured as our boy Issy here, so he fakes his way through it.” 

That earns a laugh from the group, and Isak opens his mouth, disgruntled. He isn’t quite sure exactly how to protest the comparison, but feels vaguely like he should. Magnus, however, beats him to it. 

“How do you fake being cultured?” he asks. “Asking for a friend, cough cough Isak cough.”

“Magnus, you’re supposed to actually cough, not just say the words,” Isak says, rolling his eyes so hard the room spins. “But yeah, actually. How _do_ you fake being cultured?”

“Well, if you’re like William,” Jonas explains, “you buy a shit-ton of art, both legally and otherwise, and host massive viewing parties to show it off. Then you get to walk around and say things like _don’t you love how the red overtones imply anger_ or _this is from the artist’s blue period_ and other bullshit like that, and people think you actually know what you’re talking about.”

“And that actually works?” Chris asks, incredulous. 

“Well, it does if you’re as rich as Magnusson,” Jonas says, disdain for the bourgeoisie saturating every pixel of his chat window. “And it’s about time for us to put a stop to it.”

Something about his tone changes then, or maybe it’s his expression, finally settling into one that emanates authority. Almost as one, the individual members of Kollektivet lean in, ready to hear what Jonas has planned.

“At the end of the month, Magnusson will be hosting another art viewing party for the Oslo elite,” Jonas says. “It’s a fundraiser this time, ostensibly to raise money for Magnusson’s scholarship for aspiring young artists, but we all know the funds raised are going straight into his own well-lined pockets. Enough is enough. I think it’s about time someone teaches Wilhelm a lesson. And I think we’re just the someones to do it. So let’s go steal us a fundraiser.”

A moment of silence follows his words. 

And then, “You want to steal his fundraiser?” Vilde asks.

“Well, the art, anyway,” Jonas amends. “Every piece of art he owns. The portraits he has hanging on the walls, the paintings he keeps in his safety deposit boxes, the childhood sketches he has taped to the fridge. I want the man humiliated with no way to recoup. I want it all. What do you guys say?”

Jonas looks like he’s on fire, an avenging angel sent to smite the upper class. Not for the first time, Isak thinks he’d follow his best friend anywhere.

“Hell yeah!” Magnus whoops. “Let’s go steal us a fundraiser!”

“Sounds like fun,” Chris agrees, a wicked smile spreading across her face. 

Vilde hums thoughtfully, but it’s Mahdi, pragmatic as always, who asks the real questions. 

“But what does the dog have to with anything?”

At this, Jonas actually laughs. “Patience, young grasshopper. I’m getting to it.” He shakes his head in amusement, and even though Isak is already in on the joke thanks to Sana's files, he finds himself smiling along. “Even though Sana is sitting this one out, she did manage to do some recon before she left. The dog in the photo belongs to Magnusson, the guy is some local he pays to walk it. William may be a first class douche to literally everyone, but he absolutely idolizes his dog. To the point where he completely blew off Internet Safety 101, because Sana says she’s reasonably sure that all of his passcodes are related to good ole Fluffy.”

Isak smirks. Sana’s ‘reasonably sure’ is everyone else’s ‘100% certain.’ Idiots like William practically deserve to have their stuff stolen if that’s how they go about protecting it, at least in his opinion. Although calling the creature in question Fluffy feels like a bit of a stretch on Jonas’s part. Isak would have gone with Cerberus. 

“Wait, so we don’t actually know his passcodes?” Mahdi asks. 

“Well, no,” Jonas admits, rubbing his neck a bit sheepishly. “Which is why Isak and Magnus are heading to Oslo on tomorrow’s redeye. I want info on that dog - everything and anything we can get. Birthday, grooming visits, favorite flavor of kibble. That dog is the key to this heist, and this heist is important, okay? We _need_ it to go smoothly.”

Jonas doesn’t bother explaining why, but he doesn’t need to. Isak’s heart swells at the determination he sees splayed across his split-screens. The job is important to Jonas, so it’s important to all of them too. For a bunch of criminals, the Kollektiv could be damn good people. 

After that, the discussion devolves into logistics like flights and cover stories, and Isak tunes out. Details like those are best handled by Vilde and Mahdi. They’d decide which alias fit the job best, and he’d assume it without a second thought, slipping into a new life, a new personality easier than breathing. It’s what he loved most about his job, getting to leave all his own troubles behind, and, at least for a little while, becoming someone new, someone happier. Someone freer. 

Keyword, of course, being _loved_. 

“Hey, bro, are you okay?” Jonas asks softly, startling Isak out of reverie. He hadn’t even noticed everyone else signing out of the chat, leaving him and Jonas alone on the line. He would need to step up his game before heading back ho-- to Oslo. Before heading back to Oslo.

“What do you think?” Isak rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off the migraine he can already feel brewing. It had been a long night, and was now shaping up to be an even longer morning. 

“I think you’re mad at me, and you’d have every right to be,” Jonas answers.

“I’m not mad at you, man,” Isak says, and it’s the truth, or at least part of it. “I’m just not exactly thrilled with you either.”

“Look,” Jonas says, apologetic. “I know you said you wanted out of Kollektivet, okay? But this one’s for Eva. And with Sana gone, I need a grifter I can trust. I love Mags, but he just doesn’t have the experience to carry this alone.” Jonas looks at Isak then, silently urging him to make eye contact, and when Isak finally does, he continues. “It was still wrong of me to call you in for this, though. I’d understand if you want to back out.”

Isak opens his mouth to refuse, but something in Jonas’s expression stills him. He stops, thinks for a moment about what it would mean if he went. What it would mean if he didn’t. 

“I’m not going to back out,” he says finally. 

He’d expected Jonas to be relieved. If anything, his words make Jonas look even more worried. 

“Are you sure?”

Again, Isak takes a moment to think about it. 

“No,” he answers honestly. This, finally, causes Jonas’s expression to relax, the wrinkle of tension to disappear from his brow. 

“It’s not just the heist,” Isak says, “although that’s certainly part of it. It’s just… why didn’t you tell me it was going to be in fucking Oslo?”

Jonas sighs heavily. “Because I knew you’d do this. Overthink things, freak yourself out. Oslo is a big city, and you probably won’t even see your---”

“Don’t make this about my dad,” Isak cuts him off. “You should have told me.”

“You’re right, I should have,” Jonas says, placating. It does absolutely nothing to improve Isak’s suddenly sour mood. “Next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time, Jonas,” Isak says. He hopes he sounds decisive, suspects it comes out sounding more like pleading instead. “I’m tired. So fucking tired.”

“I understand that,” Jonas says, “I do.” 

It’s so obviously a lie that for a moment Isak sees red. 

“No,” says Isak. “You don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have called me in.”

He slams his laptop shut with finality, ignoring Jonas’s three subsequent attempts to call him back. He’d feel guilty about it tomorrow, hell he already feels a little guilty about it now, but he has bigger things to worry about at the moment. 

For the first time in seven years, he’s going back to fucking Oslo. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://www.shakespeare-and-sunshine.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
